


tendons too torn to beg

by piggy09



Series: Keyframes [2]
Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Baby's first platonic crush, Gen, Helena warnings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-17
Updated: 2014-01-17
Packaged: 2018-01-09 02:26:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1140340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piggy09/pseuds/piggy09
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her stomach is full, and in her mind is the dark pits of Her eyes and the way they looked. The way Her mouth moved around the word <i>friends</i>. She doesn’t realize it, yet, but Helena has a predator’s patience. Helena learned from the snakes in the seventh basement and the hawks that watched her kill the third impostor. You sit very, very still and then you <i>move</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	tendons too torn to beg

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place directly after the diner scene in Episode 7, in case you can't tell.
> 
> I'm so sorry for this jumbled mess. I don't know where it came from, except that I know I am _completely addicted_ to writing in Helena's voice. It is so much fun. But: like Helena, this is a trainwreck. Like Helena, please love it anyway.

Her stomach is full, and in her mind is the dark pits of Her eyes and the way they looked. The way Her mouth moved around the word _friends_. She doesn’t realize it, yet, but Helena has a predator’s patience. Helena learned from the snakes in the seventh basement and the hawks that watched her kill the third impostor. You sit very, very still and then you _move_.

(Helena may have messed that up, in the restaurant. Her fists clench in her pockets, aching to hit her face. _Stupid. Stupid_. She’d moved right, in one quick lunge, but she was lost in the dizzying patterns of Her voice and hands and how desperately she wanted Her to hold her face in gentle fingers. No one has ever touched her gently, but Helena trusts Her to do it.

But She struck _back_. Helena’s leg was against Her leg and it was warm, so warm, but then there was a knife. So. Helena bites her lip and kicks the sidewalk, without menace. She doesn’t think she did it right at all. She doesn’t really know what else she could have tried, though.)

Helena’s phone is burning, burning in her pocket and now her hand is itching to pull it out and check if she has any messages. If She called, voice like all her jagged edges, if She gave Helena Her _name_. Helena can already taste it on her tongue, the sweetness of it. She’d been trying to puzzle it out in the restaurant, but even the wobbling jelly covered in sugar had not been quite sweet enough. Her mouth tastes like the bitter remnants of sugar. It tastes like bread, and jam, and all of the food She gave her. She said She did not care, but Helena has eaten more than she has ever had at one time and this must be what love is, isn’t it? She does not know.

She’d thought she’d known what love was – love was being locked in a cage for her own good. Love was the burn of a blade on her back. Love was other people being kind enough to break her down so she could build herself up as something better, brighter ( _you are the light_ ). She pitied the abominations secretly, in the dark, for never knowing love. It was almost gentler to take them out of their misery when they had no hearts to beat and their laughs rang false, metallic. She was always realer than any of them. Sad.

But now she isn’t sure. Helena knows she could have died in Maggie Chen’s apartment, but She put down the gun when all of Helena’s lessons taught her to wince and wait for the pain. She whirled, Her hair shining like Helena’s did when she was small, and She said lies that were sweeter in Helena’s ears than any of the truths Tomas has ever told her. It speaks to something true in her, or else she would have dismissed it. But something in the way She spoke, the desperation of it…it is the same desperation at Helena’s core. They are the _same_. If only She could see it! Helena’s fingers twitch again, in her pockets, and inside of her something is keening to grab Her by the throat, breathe Her breaths from Her mouth, show Her how similar they are. The same. The same.

Her wings ache, and she must be patient. Patient. The big cat that pounces on the rabbit too early goes hungry. She is not hungry yet, but she will be soon. The food she’s stuffed in her pockets will not last for long. Hunger makes her sharper, smarter anyways. She’ll wait. Eventually She will come to her.

A secret: she does not want to go back to the ship. Tomas will be angry with her, because Tomas…Tomas…Tomas, she thinks very quietly so God will not hear her, does not know love. Something is beginning to curl in her chest that says that it is Tomas’ fault. Tomas did not make her stronger. Tomas _broke_ her.

She shushes it, for now, her voice like the sea breeze. Ssssh. Ssssh. There is no time for blasphemy, not when she does not know Her name. It will take all of her strength to keep Tomas from knowing how important She is. If he knows, he will want Her for his own. This cannot be allowed. Not when she is so _close_ to knowing Her name. So Helena tucks the thought of _blame_ away like sugar in her pockets. She keeps walking in great meaningless curves. Somewhere behind her, she thinks warmly, She is getting into Her great humming car and driving somewhere. Helena wonders if She is thinking of her. The thought pulls at something in her chest, like her wings hurting but warmer. She doesn’t recognize it, but it feels nice – like the way Her arms would feel around Helena, she thinks. She wants to keep it. She does not want to go back into the dark and face Tomas.

So she pauses, and tilts her head to one side, and thinks for a second about the detective Elizabeth Childs, and the way she could almost smell Her across the table. She walks another way instead.

To catch an animal, you head for its nest. Helena is an animal, so She must be one too.

**Author's Note:**

> Well my trust in you is a dog with a broken leg,  
> Tendons too torn to beg for you to let me back in. 
> 
> You said, “I can’t prove to you you’re not gonna die alone,  
> But trust me to take you home,  
> To clean up that blood all over your paws. 
> 
> You can’t keep running out,  
> Kicking yourself off the bed,  
> Kicking yourself in the head,  
> Because you’re kicking me too.”  
> \--"Putting The Dog To Sleep," The Antlers


End file.
